


His Little Monarch

by HisAngelThursday



Series: Gangster Idiots in Love: Stand Alone Fics [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Spanking, Steven Knight has his universe, Tommy and Alfie bring out the best in each other, Top Alfie Solomons, both are happy and healthy and in love, in mine they live happily ever after and fall asleep in each other's arms every night, plus more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday
Summary: Tommy forces Alfie to a stuffy party, where he loiters at the refreshments table and ponders how much he hates rich people.  And exactly how sorry he's going to make Tommy when he gets home.For my peeps who like a proper fluff-to-smut ratio, this has a sickening amount of both.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Gangster Idiots in Love: Stand Alone Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756603
Comments: 55
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter 1

Alfie likes to watch Tommy at parties. His little peacock, fanning his feathers, with eyes just as blue. He can command rooms just by the way he carries himself, by the authoritative tone of his voice, by his cold, unblinking stare.

And normally, right, normally, you couldn’t pay Alfie to whore himself out at a party like this. They attract sharks like blood in the water. Tommy, right now, is surrounded by gangsters more vicious than he ever was, socialites with diamonds fatter than Alfie’s eyeball on each of their fingers, or women half their age on their arms. All of it, paid for in blood.

Tommy’s not who he once was. Neither is Alfie. Somehow, they’ve made good men out of each other, and who the fuck knows how that happened, but it did, and somehow they’re probably the most moral people in this room. The reason Tommy is here at all is to campaign against the mistreatment of underprivileged children. Or veterans. Or dogs. Or some other such noble cause he’s been supporting these days. 

Which Alfie, Alfie supports wholeheartedly, right, he does. But it was hard to pay attention to anything Tommy was saying when he convinced him to go to this party, straddling Alfie’s lap like the little vixen he lets himself become when it’s just the two of them, his hot breath in Alfie’s ear.

The memory makes Alfie twitch in his pants, and he’s glad he’s behind the refreshment table so no one can see him adjust himself. Not that he cares what any of these pompous cunts think about him, anyhow.

He watches Tommy slide like quicksilver between one conversation and the next. He knows just how long to hold eye-contact, just the right amount of space to put between them, just the time to touch an arm or a shoulder. He leaves them beguiled, but equipped with the knowledge that he is not to be fucked with. It’s a more subtle approach than Alfie could ever master.

Alfie eats another cheese cube. Fucking hell, he’s had a lot of these things. But what the fuck else is he gonna do? He’s tried, briefly, to join in on some conversations, and found that everything these rich fuckers had to talk about made him want to retch into one of the potted plants. One of the many potted plants. Why the fuck are there so many potted plants around here, anyhow? Rich people and their potted plants. Poor plants are probably miserable, forced to be around the stuffy fucks all hours of the day. 

He wishes Tommy were here, so he could say these thoughts aloud. Tommy, or Ollie, or someone else who has something of more substance on their mind than making money off the backs of the poor and the vegan diet of their toy poodle. Well, he supposes he could say his thoughts aloud anyway, but that would be Causing A Scene. He’s already promised Tommy he wouldn’t Cause A Scene this evening.

He eats another cheese cube. Tommy is dazzling his latest mark – a doe-eyed Russian straight out of the days when tzars ruled, whose name Alfie can’t remember – and thinks of all the places beneath his little suit where he’s marked him. The berry-red hickies Alfie sucked on his shoulders and chest, his poor nipples plum purple from when Alfie sucked on them till Tommy begged. First one, and then the other. Poor little thing, didn’t even know whether he was begging for less or more, which is always Alfie’s favorite place to get him. 

He presses his semi-erection against the table. Eats another cheese cube. 

God, he wants to be home with him now. In their bed – their bed, yeah, which they share together, every night – maybe reading or watching a cartoon with Charlie before the boy goes off to sleep and it’s just the two of them. It’s not always fucking. Sometimes, it’s just reading next to Tommy while he scribbles notes in his little pad, and then maybe forcing Tommy to watch a romantic comedy with him. (Tonight, Alfie’s already decided, it will be Pretty Woman. He hasn’t made Tommy watch that one yet.)

Tommy huffs and pouts, and Alfie’s got to wonder then, does he even have any idea what a precious creature he is? He always grumbles at first, before getting invested in the plot and losing sight of himself, curling up against Alfie with his head right over his heart. 

It’s in moments like these, sometimes, when Alfie still expects this all to end. But it just goes on, this happily ever after in which they’ve found themselves. And he’s gotta wonder, right, how the fuck did that happen? How did he get so lucky? Out of all the people, why did God smile down on him so fondly? 

Alfie’s not sure. But he knows, wherever he is or whatever lifetime he’s in, the first thing he’ll do is always find Tommy Shelby. Because life’s just not worth living otherwise. 

Suddenly, Alfie feels quite emotional, and he knows he has to do something about this before he Causes A Scene. 

“You know that orcas are closer related to cows than they are to fish?” he barks, at some white-haired bird who’s just bitten into cheese on a cracker. 

She gives him a polite, thin-lipped smile. “I didn’t, actually!” And then tottles off to find her husband, casting Alfie a wary glance.

When Alfie glances back to Tommy, those blue eyes are giving him a warning look, before disappearing back into his conversation with the Russian royalty.

Fuck. This is why Alfie can’t be left alone with his thoughts. This. He expects him to come here, in a monkey suit, yeah, and stand amongst people with whom he’s got absolutely nothing whatsoever in common, and not Cause A Scene. And he has the nerve to give him that warning glance?

That’s it, Alfie decides. This evening, before any of their more leisurely activities, he’s going to give his little monarch a lesson in humility. He won’t be too mean, of course. Just enough to put him in his place, make him whimper, make him moan. Make him remember why he’s with Alfie and not Anastasia Romanoff over there.

From across the room, Alfie watches the Russian girl – laughing breathily, batting doe-like eyes – run her hand down the length of Tommy’s arm. Alfie gives a low growl, making the nearest couple shuffle away concernedly. 

Maybe he will be a little mean tonight, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments I received spurred me to post this early! Can't BEGIN to thank you all for the positive feedback. Can't wait to hear what you think of this one!

Miserable. That’s what Tommy Shelby is. His internal monologue is a continuous scream, which he’d love to make external – just shriek, right now, halt every banal, frivolous conversation in this stuffy room – but he’d made Alfie promise not to Cause A Scene, and he has to lead by example.

“...And THAT’S when I switched Giovanni’s diet from meat-based to plant-based,” says one prospective benefactor, a Russian man, to earnest nods from his equally pompous compatriots. Tommy entered the conversation late, and though he’s been in it for five minutes, he still hasn’t figured out if Giovanni is a kid or a dog.

“His bowel movements were a lot firmer after that,” the Russian continues, oblivious to the fact that some people are eating, “which makes the servants’ jobs a lot easier, I’ll tell you that!” Cue perfectly synchronized, polite laughter.

Kid or dog. Still not sure. If it’s his kid, than Tommy could possibly use it to his benefit in getting support and funding for his latest campaign against child poverty.

“My Fifi’s the same way,” says a woman. Fifi. Sounds like a dog name. Can’t be sure. “Such a picky eater! But, you know, it’s the pedigree. Royalty doesn’t eat from the same bowl as the riff-raff!”

Cue more polite laughter. Kid or dog. Kid or fucking dog. Tommy can’t take much more of this. There are things he could ACTUALLY be doing right now. Work, for example. Alfie. Where is Alfie, anyway?

A cursory glance tells him he’s still at the refreshments table, looking bored as all hell. Tommy wishes he could convey, through telepathy perhaps, that he understands exactly how he feels.  
He clears his throat. Time to expedite. “But royalty often has more to spare.” Tommy speaks up, in the voices he uses to gently command, and the conversation falls silent as all attention turns to him. “And as royalty, the most noble thing to do is to provide for one’s subjects. Don’t you think?”

Appeal to their egos. That might work. He keeps the corners of his mouth faintly upturned, so it can be passed off as a joke. 

The Russian clears his throat, chuckling nervously. “Well, yes, I suppose!”

“It’s interest that the subject has arisen,” he says, sliding closer to the Russian, “because it actually pertains to what I was hoping to discuss. I’m going to propose a bill to provide underprivileged children with better access to food and education. I was hoping we could meet at some juncture to discuss it, perhaps in a less formal setting.” 

He normally wouldn’t approach the matter so directly, but this is the kind of conversation that can walk itself in circles without ever going anywhere. He needs to cut to the chase – there are other pivotal figures here who could support his cause. 

The Russian glances between his comrades. To say “no” outright, in front of them, wouldn’t be particularly attractive, which is part of the reason Tommy likes to ask for support in public instead of in private. These are a bunch of greedy blood-suckers, the lot of them, but that doesn’t mean they want anyone to think of them as such. 

“Perhaps you should discuss the matter with my niece, Tatiana,” he says, finally. “She’s responsible for contributions to charitable foundations.” 

Tommy groans inwardly. He’s spoken to Tatiana before, and she’s often too volatile and impulse-driven for serious negotiation. But she’s seen the way he looks at him. Across the room, she’s looking at him now, watching him with hungry, molasses-brown eyes. He could probably use that as leverage. 

“Thank you, Mr. Petrovich. I will take the matter up with her.” 

He slides off to talk to Tatiana, and the Russian returns to his conversation about Giovanni, whose species remains a mystery. It’s unfortunate that he still has to flirt his way to the top, married man that he is. He shoots a glance at Alfie, who’s eating another cheese cube, a vacant look in his eyes. Alfie. He wishes they could leave right now, just fuck off together and go home. He can feel the fabric of his suit shift against all the little markings Alfie’s left on him, and it makes him prickle pleasantly all over. 

Though he’d never admit as much, to anyone, there’s nothing he wants more right at this moment than to be curled up against him, in bed or before a crackling fire, while Alfie reads and runs his big fingers through Tommy’s hair. Maybe watching one of those movies – which Tommy will NEVER admit he loves – so he can hear the deep grumble of Alfie’s laughter, feel it vibrate in his chest. His big, broad chest. His big arms, which can hold Tommy up or push him down, mold him pliably into whatever position he wants him in.

He did it just last night, pinned Tommy’s arms to his sides as he sucked hickies on his chest, sucked his nipples til they bruised, til pleasure mixed with pain. Tommy begged til he couldn’t form coherent sentences, til he rutted against Alfie until he came, just like that.

Fuck. He can’t think about this right now. Getting hard in a public setting would not be good for business.

As he approaches Tatiana – who’s smile is now disconcertingly predatory – it occurs to him that it might have been a good idea to tell Alfie his plan, just give him a bit of a head’s up. But, what the hell. The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner they can be curled up together at home.

And besides, Alfie knows it’s for a good cause. Alfie will understand. 

* * *

Alfie’s had the misfortune of watching Tommy conversate with the Russian girl the past twenty minutes, and he’s about ready to drag him out by the scruff of his neck. What the fuck is he thinking. 

He’s watched her find every excuse to touch his shoulders, his arms, the backs of his hands. Sipped her drink while gazing, invitingly, into Tommy’s eyes.

And that wouldn’t be too much of an issue, right, because when you’ve got a spouse who looks like Tommy, well. It comes with the territory, unfortunate as it is. But the thing is, the thing is that Tommy has the nerve to flirt back. Batting his big blue eyes, sucking in his cheeks as he smokes a cigarette – and fuck, are they even allowed to smoke in here? – letting the smoke curl from his plush lips.

Finally, FINALLY, the two of them shake hands, and it’s clear that Tommy has whored himself into some kind of a deal. Which is for the best, because Alfie’s self-restraint is about to give way. 

He lumbers across the room, in full bear mode, giving off a volatile energy that makes every rich fucker in his path scramble to make way. And that’s good, because, fuck them. Fuck them and their expensive lotions and their fucking jewelry and their barely-legal wives and their fucking plants and their fucking dogs. Well. Not the plants and the dogs, the plants and the dogs did nothing wrong. But fuck everything else about the rich fucks. Not even receptive to facts about orcas, the self-important arseholes.

He lumbers up behind Tommy, and the Russian girl – who sees him before Tommy does – at least has the decency to look mildly alarmed. His hand comes down on Tommy’s shoulder, gripping hard and possessive. Tommy doesn’t jump – he’s not the sort – but there’s a flash of fear in those wide blue eyes as he turns to look at him. 

Good. He wants him a little scared tonight, like a bunny in a trap.

“Thomas,” he growls, not even attempting to act civil, “ain’t you gon’ introduce me to your friend?”

“Right.” Tommy clears his throat. “Alfie, this is my associate, Tatiana. She’ll be providing funds for my campaign to provide for impoverished children.” He carefully enunciates, as if to remind Alfie that this is all for a good cause. And fucking hell, Alfie KNOWS it’s for a good cause. But he’s still livid that Tommy would act this way without even a word to him about it. “And Tatiana, this is my better half, Alfie Solomons.” 

Tatiana, who’s evidently recovered from the initial shock, feigns surprise. “I wasn’t aware you were married, Mr. Shelby.”

“Didn’t see the ring, eh, love?” With one hand, Alfie flashes his glinting wedding ring, which matches Tommy’s. Still can’t get over that. The other hand, meanwhile, moves down Tommy’s back, feeling his muscles tense like rising hackles. It comes to rest, possessively, on his backside. 

Tommy’s ears turn distinctly red, though he remains otherwise composed. “Alfie fully supports me in all my endeavors,” he assures her. “Including accompanying me at parties.” He gives Alfie an appeasing little smile, as if to say ‘see? I appreciate you.' 

“Right. Well, s’actually what I wanted to discuss with you, love. I’m afraid I’ve developed an awful headache, right, and I’m gonna need to go home.” 

Tommy gives him a pleading look – or rather, what Alfie can identify as Tommy’s version of a pleading look. To most people, it would look like a man with an inordinately good poker face, raising his eyebrows. Making his eyes a little wider. 

Alfie stands firm. Tommy’s got what he needed. And now, they’re going to go. 

His hand, still on Tommy’s pert arse, squeezes warningly. “It’s a real bad headache, love.” 

Tommy’s throat contracts as he swallows. Yeah. There’s gonna be a lot more of that this evening. 

Tommy bids a hasty but tactful reply to Tatiana, and Alfie steers him from the room without ever moving that hand. Even puts a second, less discrete hand on the back of Tommy’s neck once they’re out of public view, like he’s holding a kitten.

And maybe, yeah, maybe Alfie’s evil. Just a bit. But it’s so damn satisfying to see the lovely flush of red spreading up Tommy’s neck and blooming across his pretty cheeks. Alfie lives for that, the moment when his ego starts to fracture. 

When they reach the car in the quiet parking lot – and fuck, it’s so nice to be out of that stuffy fucking room, in the cold, clean air – only then does Alfie spin Tommy to face him. Roughly, ‘cause it’s what the cheeky little fucker deserves right now.

“Alfie –” Tommy starts to say, apologetic, but no no no, he’s not gonna talk his way out of this one. Not on Alfie’s watch. 

Alfie grabs him by the throat, shoves him backwards against the car with one hand, and with the other, he pushes two fingers between his plush lips, holding down his silver tongue. There. That should do it. 

Tommy’s face has turned dark red, but arousal blooms dark in his pupils. If Alfie were to reach down, he knows he’d feel a hardening cock, and the thought makes him smile darkly. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, right.” He leans in close, speaks softly. “What’s gonna happen is, you’re gonna get into the front seat of this car. And you’re gonna lean over, and you’re gonna take my cock out, and you’re gonna warm it while I drive. You hear? Not suck. Warm. You get me hard, yeah, and that would be a public safety hazard. I’d have to punish you, right, even worse than I’m already planning to. And trust me, love, you do not want that.” Tommy shakes his head, and Alfie shakes his head along with him, mocking him. “No. No, you don’t want that t’all.” A pause. “You aware you’re sucking my fingers, sweetie?” 

Tommy’s facial expression says it all. He looks like he wants to curl up in shame and disappear. And there’s clearly a bad man still in Alfie yet, because that’s just what he wants. Just how he wants him. 

But really, it’s for Tommy’s own good, yeah? Strutting around like Little Lord Fauntleroy, he could use a little shame. And Alfie wants him aching with shame. 

“Yeah. Little slut, you are,” he says, just to make it worse. “Any one of your hotsy totsy friends could walk out, right now, and see you like this.” His hand moves away from Tommy’s throat and to the bulge in his pants, hard and pulsing faintly. There’s a damp spot right over the head of Tommy’s cock, and Alfie runs his fingertip over it, teasing. “Look at that.” He shakes his head in mock reproach. “And they call you a Gypsy King.” 

This makes Tommy remember himself somewhat, evidently, because a spark of anger flashes behind his eyes. And that’s alright. That’s more than alright. It’s all the more fun if there’s something to fuck out of him. 

“S’alright, my little whore. I still love you.” Alfie’s tone is mocking, even as he knows the sentiment is true. More than true. He presses a kiss to one hot cheek, and then the other, which seems to make Tommy bristle even more. Sometimes he reacts that way, to tenderness. 

“Now, then.” Alfie let’s his eyes go dark and his tone go hard with authority. “Get in the FUCKING car.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your comments more than Tommy loves horses, and that's really saying something. 
> 
> With the encouragement of some of my very favorite fic authors, I nearly created a tumblr blog specifically for these fics last night, before very reluctantly deciding a new blog is probably not a good idea before I've finished my thesis. In the meantime, I will be posting a lot more on here, and this will likely become part of a larger AU. 
> 
> Thank you all for your encouragement!! You've made me post SO much quicker than I would otherwise. Now, have some more (kinky) gangster idiots in love.

It’s been ten minutes, and Tommy is absolutely livid. And mortified. Alfie’s cock has been in his mouth for the entire drive, warm and soft, filling his mouth completely. Alfie won’t even let him wipe away the drool that’s been oozing from the corners of his mouth.

“I’m gonna tie your hands when we get back anyway, love,” he clucked, effortlessly catching Tommy’s arm. “You might as well get used to it.”

Tommy’s still bristling after that indignity, trying to glare up at him, but Alfie only strokes his hair. Like Tommy is a small, domesticated animal. Fucking absurd. He’s beaten men twice his size to a bloody pulp, survived horrors in combat, and here he is. Reduced to a cockwarmer, ignored except for thick fingers absently caressing him, holding his head down.

It’s degrading, and infuriating, and – 

– And utterly arousing. Tommy simultaneously dreads and yearns for the moment when Alfie will straighten him up, witness his blatant arousal at being treated this way. He’ll definitely remark on it, taunt him for it, which will make Tommy ache with shame and arousal. 

He can’t even figure out why he likes this so much. It’s so contrary to his identity, to everything he’s established himself to be. He can feel his impulse to submit warring with his inclination to fight back. 

He could just – just, bite down. He realizes that. Not hard. Just enough for Alfie to learn not to stick his soft cock in his mouth and leave it there. But he won’t. He knows he won’t. And that absolutely infuriates him.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, love.” They must be getting close to the house, because Alfie’s speaking again. “You’re gonna get out of this car, and you’re gonna go inside the house. Right? I’ll be right behind you, there’s some things I gotta do first. But you, right, your gonna prance your little self right up them stairs, right up there, and you’re gonna take off your clothes. All of ‘em. You hearin’ me so far?” 

Alfie’s fingers knot themselves in the Tommy’s hair. He seethes, even as he squirms with arousal. 

“I’m not hearin’ you, sweets.” 

Tommy’s eyes squeeze shut, insides burning with shame. “Yeth,” he says thickly, around Alfie’s cock. Drool dripping. He’s disgusted with himself.

“Good. There’s my good little one.” Alfie’s voice has softened, fingers rubbing smooth circles on the short hairs on the back of his head. “Now, once you’re naked, you’re gonna get on the bed. Hands and knees, right? And you’re gonna wait for me, just like that, with your little spine arched and your arse in the air. And you’re gonna take whatever I come and give you.” 

Tommy can’t help it. Arousal blossoms through him, unfurling in hot tendrils. His cock, hard enough to ache, gives a desperate, pulsing twitch, and a moan escapes him, vibrating around Alfie’s cock. 

“Oi!” Tommy realizes Alfie is pulling up, somewhat hastily. He shifts the gear to park, and drags Tommy up by his hair. Slaps him, open-handed, across the face. “I told you not to get me hard, didn’t I?”

“I –” only now that his mouth is empty does Tommy realize how his jaw aches. His eyes water from the hard slap. 

“No no, no excuses. I told you not to get me hard, and you gave it a go anyway, yeah? Little whore couldn’t even wait till he was inside to get a hard cock inside him.” Alfie shakes his head, frowning. “That won’t do, I’ll tell you what. Won’t do at all.” 

Alfie swings open his passenger side door, and Tommy is somewhat relieved to see they’re in front of their own house – instead of, say, at a streetlight, with fifty honking cars behind him. He wouldn’t put it past his Alfie. 

But his relief is short-lived, as he finds himself being dragged over Alfie’s knees, one hand knotted in his hair and the other in the back of his coat. 

Tommy isn’t the sort to yelp when Alfie brings his palm down, hard, on his rear-end, but it does sting. It’s in times like these that he remembers what a strong man Alfie is, and FUCK, don’t you dare get aroused by him right now, Thomas, not when he’s putting you through this. 

Tommy counts ten strokes – five per cheek – before Alfie practically shoves him off his lap, watching him scramble to collect himself. He regards his husband furiously, trying to summon his infamous, cold stare, but he knows the effect is deflated somewhat by the obvious tent in the front of his pants. The flush in his cheeks. His disheveled hair.

Alfie just smirks at him, eyes dark as black coffee. “That’s just a starter, love. Now, get in the fucking house and do as you’re fucking told. I won’t be a minute.” 

* * *

Fuck. Alfie has half a mind to start jacking himself right here and now, right, just to ensure he doesn’t come prematurely and ruin what’s shaping up to be a VERY enjoyable night indeed. 

Because he’d never put it to use to actually hurt Tommy – well. Hurt him badly, at any rate – he likes the reminder that he’s bigger and stronger. He likes reminding Tommy of that, too. Not just for sadistic purposes, but he likes reminding Tommy that he can protect him, that for once, Tommy doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest or the meanest person in the room. 

It’s altruistic, really, Alfie thinks to himself, as he looks through his collection of paddles and floggers. 

He takes them out, one at a time, turning them over in his fingers and thinking about all the times he’s put them to good use. He’s in no rush. It’s good for Tommy, right, to ruminate on what, exactly, he’s done to earn this. He’s been a brat! And there’s no better cure for bratitude than deep thought and a very sore arse. 

He lets his mind wander to his little darling upstares, probably waiting for him obediently, ready to accept whatever hard-earned punishment Alfie’s about to dish out. Already remorseful, and ready to do whatever it takes to make amends. 

* * *

Alfie is an unfair fucking bastard. That’s the decision Tommy’s come to. 

He stands, naked, before their bed, wondering how Alfie possibly expected him to willingly do this. 

It’s one thing when Alfie pushes his face into the pillows, bowing his spine and forcing his arse in the air, or pushes his legs up towards his head when he’s on his back. It makes him flush and groan, with equal parts embarrassment and white-hot lust, but he can console himself with the knowledge that Alfie, technically, is making him do these things.

Now, Alfie wants him to do it on his own accord, put himself in that humiliating position for his own sick amusement. And for what? What did Tommy do that was so terrible? He was, yes, a little flirtatious, but for fuck’s sake. Out of all the things he’s done, THIS is what Alfie wants to punish him for? This is what he wants to humble him for? It was for starving children, for fuck’s sake. 

He stares at the bed, and tries to imagine himself prostrated with his arse in the air, like the women he used to pay to fuck when he was a lonely shell of a human being. Alfie could spank him like that. He probably would, while lecturing him about what he’d supposedly done wrong. His face, once again, blooms hot, and he shakes his head at the thought. 

No. No, he won’t do it. He is the Gypsy King, the Wolf That Lives in Birmingham, still feared and respected by the very lords and ladies who’d once held him down, and he will NOT do this, not for anyone. 

Acting on impulse alone – which is never a good thing, if he took the time to think about it – he grabs a random shirt, one of Alfie’s, long enough to cover his still-hard cock. Thinking about getting spanked by Alfie doesn’t help matters, for reasons he doesn’t care to examine too closely. 

He pulls the shirt on as he heads for the door, thinking just how he’ll tell Alfie off, exactly what he’ll say. And then –

– And then he walks straight into a warm, broad chest, just as he’s pulling his head through. 

He finds himself blinking up at Alfie, whose thick arms wrap around him, gentle but inescapable. He feels like he’s shrinking, and in a way, he is: he’s pulling his shoulders in on himself, he realizes, making himself as tiny as possible. 

“My goodness, love.” Alfie’s voice is gentle, in stark contrast with the predatory arousal glittering his eyes. “What do we have here?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on the smut, but there's oodles of fluff to come in the next one. This will definitely be a broader AU, so there are also lots of other situations I'd like to explore with these two.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!

“You know, treacle. For someone who’s so smart –” Tommy can feel Alfie’s deep voice vibrating against his chest as he’s forced backwards towards the bed – “you’ve just made a very, VERY stupid decision.”

There are objects in one of Alfie’s hands. He can feel them against his back, but he can’t see what they are. He’s gaping up at Alfie, feeling like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

And he’s not stupid. He knows that if he were to tell Alfie to stop this, Alfie would, unequivocally, stop immediately. But the thing is, he doesn’t WANT this to stop. And he hates himself for that. 

Tommy grew up fighting. He’s always been pretty. When he was a child, he was called “small for his age,” which eventually became “small for a man.” Or just, “small.” He’s always been a target. So he had to become tougher and smarter and fiercer than everyone who was coming at him.

He imagines what his adversaries would say if they saw him like this. Not even putting up a fight. 

The thought of their reactions fills him with rage, and he pushes Alfie backwards, away from him. Alfie looks momentarily startled, and then his brows draw together, a dark sound rumbling from his chest. 

“Want to fight, do you, love?” he tosses the object – whatever it is – onto the bed, and shoves Tommy onto the mattress right alongside it. This time, however, Tommy puts up resistance, tussling with him, fighting for dominance. Tommy wouldn’t actually hit Alfie, even now, and vice versa – they’ve always had too much of that in their lives. But he’s wrestling him in earnest, trying his best to get on top and stay there. 

It’s no use. Alfie knows how to use his bulk to his advantage, rolling Tommy onto his back and sitting on his hips, pinning both his arms above his head and using his leverage to keep him there. 

Behind his beard, Tommy can see the bastard smiling. “Try and fight me, love. Go on.” 

Tommy doesn’t need to be told. He twists and writhes, but Alfie’s hold is sure and unrelenting. He can’t even make him budge. Fuck. He can’t be this weak. Everything in him rails against the notion, makes him twist harder, arching his spine. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” comes Alfie’s voice above him, softer now. “Don’t cry.” 

Crying? Tommy nearly scoffs. He’s not crying. Except, he is – he just hadn’t realized it until Alfie pointed it out. His eyelashes are clumping with unwelcome moisture, and fuck, not this, too. He turns his head to the side, but there’s no escaping. Not now.

“Oh, Tom.” As if sensing he won’t resist right now, Alfie brings a hand down to stroke his face, to thumb away the tears. “You don’t need to be strong right now, love.” It’s as if he can read Tommy’s mind. Is he really that transparent? “You don’t need to be strong around me t’all. You can rest, Tommy. I’ve got you.” 

The first time they fucked, Alfie said something similar. It makes something in him melt inside Tommy – makes something release. Like he’s been holding his breath for a long while, and can finally exhale. 

Alfie seems to know the exact moment this happens, the exact moment he can return to dom mode. Tommy can see it, too – the precise instant when his eyes darken, going hard and predatory with hunger.

“Silly boy,” he growls. “Thinking you need to fight, when it’s in your best interest to surrender. When you’re in the wrong anyway.” Tommy opens his mouth to protest, but Alfie shushes him. “I know, I know it’s probably too complicated for you to understand. And I’ll explain it to you. But first –” Tommy feels himself being dragged up by his wrists – “let’s get you into the proper position, hmm?”

He nearly yelps as he’s shoved backwards onto the bed, onto the pillows. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands. 

But Alfie just grabs his ankles, flips him over with a feral growl, and promptly sits on Tommy’s thighs, weighing him to the bed. 

“Get the fuck off me,” Tommy snarls, trying to push himself up, but Alfie grabs his wrists again and forces them upward, against the headboard. 

“No, darling, matter of fact –” as Alfie speaks, Tommy can feel something silken being wound around his wrists, binding them together and to the headboard – “I don’t think I will.”

Tommy struggles beneath him, but whatever Alfie’s bound him with – a scarf, probably – holds firm. Damn that fucker for being good with knots. “Gonna fucking kill you,” he mutters, which probably is not a good idea, considering his current position.

“Is that a fact?” Alfie’s weight shifts slightly on top of him, and Tommy’s insides flutter. He’s reaching for something. That’s never a good sign. “I don’t think that’s what’s gonna happen, love. No no no, I think what’s gonna happen is, you’re gonna listen to exactly what you’ve done wrong, and you’re gonna take your punishment, and do exactly what I tell you, right, just like a good little boy.”

“What I’ve done wrong?” Despite his indignation, Tommy can’t suppress a shiver as one big hand begins to kneed his buttocks, squeezing indulgently and roughly. He squirms on principle. “What, exactly, did I do wrong? Eh? You haven’t taken issue before with –” 

Something cracks harshly against both his cheeks, and Tommy – unprepared and mid-sentence – can’t surpress a cry. It’s the flogger, that one fucking flogger, that Alfie knows he can’t stand. 

“With you being a little whore? Is that what you were gonna say, love?” Another crack, the pain in stark contrast with Alfie’s gentle, patronizing tone. “Well, that’s the thing.” Another crack, alternating cheeks now. “I don’t mind you being a little whore, right –” crack – “so long as –” crack – “you don’t forget –” CRACK! – “WHOSE whore you are –” CRACK! – “and who –” CRACK! – “you fucking –” CRACK! – “belong to!” CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!

Alfie’s tone gets steadily harsher as the cracking of his flogger does, each strike sending an unbearable wave of pain coursing through Tommy. He has to bite the pillow to keep from screaming from it. 

“Oh, would you look at this.” Alfie’s hand gently caresses his now-burning cheeks, making them twitch with recalled agony. “Your little arse is getting red already, love. And we haven’t even started yet.” 

He’s crazy. That’s the only feasible explanation for his behavior. “Alfie –” 

“You keep talking, love, and I’m gonna have to gag you.” 

Tommy shuts his mouth, ears burning and eyes damp with indignation. 

“There we go.” Alfie pats his buttocks condescendingly. “Now, since you decided to go and be a whore without my consultation, I’ve decided, right, that I’m gonna make your whorish activities a lot less enjoyable.”

Tommy does not like where this is going, not in the slightest. 

“Tell me, Thomas. What’s the most enjoyable thing for a whore?” Alfie’s thick finger traces the crease of his arse, and Tommy feels his face get hot in spite of himself. “You can speak now, love.”

“I don’t know.” Tommy pushes his face deeper into the pillows, hoping Alfie won’t notice his burning ears. “Getting fucked, I suppose.” 

“I was gonna say getting to come.” There’s amusement in Alfie’s voice, and Tommy yearns to punch it out of him. “So what’s gonna happen tonight is, I’m gonna make you come. But you’re sure as hell not going to enjoy it.”

Tommy has to look up at that, peering as best he can over his shoulder. Alfie is smirking down at him. He’s taken up another object, and Tommy recognizes it as his favorite vibrating plugs. 

“‘Because, right, you’re gonna come – maybe more than once – while I’m spanking you.”

* * *

Alfie can concede this is a little mean, even for him. But how’s he supposed to react, right, when he comes in to find Tommy wearing his own shirt – dwarfed by it, in fact – and looking all wide-eyed and frightened and flushed and aroused. 

Before being greeted by that lovely sight, he’d planned on using the vibrating plug on Tommy AFTER the spanking – the boy needs something of a reward, after all – but now he’s been filled with an irresistible, sadistic need to use both at the same time. 

He pushed Tommy’s knees underneath him, forcing his arse in the air. “S’what I told you to do before we came in here, Tom,” he reminds him, squeezing handfuls of the lovely flesh. “Maybe if you’d listened like you was supposed to, right, maybe your pretty little arse could have avoided this.”

Tommy mumbles something into the pillow. Alfie smiles to himself. He knows Tommy hates this position – claims to, at any rate. He seems to come the hardest when he’s at his least dignified.

“Whassat, love? I couldn’t seem to hear you.”

Tommy lifts his head enough to glare icily at Alfie over his shoulder, blue eyes in sharp contrast to his bright red face. “I said, shut the fuck up and get the fuck on with it.”

Alfie’s grin feels devilish, even to himself, as he pops open a bottle of lube. “Oh, I’d be careful what you wish for, sweety.” 

He takes his time opening Tommy up, mostly because he likes to hear him try and fail to stay silent, to suppress hurt little sounds that turn into moans. Alfie, because he’s feeling especially mean tonight, takes it upon himself to press repeatedly on Tommy’s prostate, yielding a more desperate sound each time. 

Then, slowly, he pushes the plug past Tommy’s rim, watching the sweet little hole stretch to accommodate it. Tommy pushes his face deep into the pillow, but it’s not enough to muffle the low, guttural sound he produces. 

“That’s it, treacle. Let me hear you.” Tommy shakes his head into the pillow. “No? Well, alrighty, then. I suppose I’ll just have to turn this on.” Alfie flicks the switch, and turns the vibrations to full power. He watches as every muscle in Tommy’s body goes completely still with the effort to contain himself. 

He lets him stay like that for a minute – just lets him feel it. Pushes the base a bit deeper, making sure it’s snug against his sweet spot. Tommy’s shoulders draw together with the sustained effort of keeping silent.

“Now that I’ve finally got your attention,” says Alfie, calmly taking up Tommy’s least-favorite flogger, “I think it’s time we discuss some business. Don’t you?” He drags the leather tails over Tommy’s already pinkened buttocks, smiling as goosebumps pebble the flesh. “Right. So before I get to punishing you –” he says this just to get Tommy’s guard down – “I need you to understand why, exactly, I’m punishing you.” 

He picks that moment to lash the flogger down, hard, and relishes the high note of surprise that escapes from Tommy’s throat.

He hushes him mockingly, smoothing the flesh before bringing it down again. “Now, I know, right, that you’re a little whore.” He lashes him again, growling lowly at the way Tommy’s cheeks clench. “That’s been established. But you’re my little whore.” He lashes him again, building up a rhythm. “And before you flirt, you need my –” lash – “fucking –” another lash, getting harder each time – “permission.” Five lashes in rapid succession, yielding a delicious cry of pain and lust. “Understood?”

Tommy clearly can’t form words, but he nods into the pillow. Alfie takes this time to reach beneath him, to feel his pulsing cock. Teases it’s dripping head. Tommy, if it’s possible, tenses even more than when he was being spanked, a lovely red flush spreading down his neck and to his shoulders.

“Awful disrespectful, innit, mate, to get hard during a punishment.” Alfie clucks his tongue. “Not right, not right at all. I’m gonna have to take care of that, ‘cause that won’t do at all.”

He builds up a steady rhythm now. Every three to five lashes, he reaches town to jerk Tommy’s cock a few times, till the poor boy probably doesn’t even know if he’s moaning from pleasure or pain. He rocks his hips back, rolling them with pain or lust. Or both. Probably both. 

It’s all Alfie can do not to start stroking himself right now, his cock achingly hard. But he has the stubborn need to make sure that Tommy comes first – there’s something authoritative about that, about retaining more control. 

So he lashes him harder, leaving red stripes of ownership like a branding. “You’re mine, Tommy. Only mine. Always,” he growls in his ear, reaching down to jack him hard. “You don’t belong to any Russian heiress –” he strikes him again, taking careful note of how Tommy’s entire body is trembling – “or any of her poncy friends –” again, the flogger sizzling the air – “or any other human being except me, and me alone.” Again. Again. Again. “Understood?”

And just like that, Tommy is crying out. A moan that turns into a sob, the lust and desperation of an orgasm he can’t quite enjoy. Painting the sheets with Alfie’s ownership. 

Alfie growls, “I’ll take that as a yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whiplash from hardcore smut to emotional fluffiness, though. 
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for being so wonderful! I can't wait to write and share more fics about these two idiot gangsters in love. <3

After Tommy’s orgasm, Alfie waits as long as he possibly can to take the vibrating plug out. Not because he feels sorry for him – Alfie’s not, by nature, a sympathetic man – but ‘cause he’s only human. Alfie wagers that not many flesh-and-blood human beings could see Tommy Shelby in this position and resist the urge to fuck him.

His cock is straining in his own trousers, almost painfully hard. And yes, he takes some pleasure in the fact that Tommy’s naked and sniffling and squirming with a plug up his tight little arse, while Alfie remains clothed and relatively dignified. He likes that he’s the only one who gets to see Tommy like this. 

It’s partially why he doesn’t take his cock out and start stroking it, not wanting to upset that pleasing dichotomy. Not just yet.

“Alfie.” Tommy’s graveled, slightly pained voice is music to Alfie’s ears. 

“That’s me, love.” 

“Please.”

“Please what, mm?” Alfie smooths his hands over Tommy’s reddened buttocks, thumbing gently where the flesh was whipped raw. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, love.” 

“The plug.” There’s a hint of desperation to Tommy’s voice. A lovely, high-pitched note. Music.

Alfie can’t resist. Leans down to press a kiss to a berry red stripe, the flesh hot beneath his lips. Trembling faintly – with pain, most likely. Overstimulation. The sustained effort of keeping still. 

“I know, lovely thing, innit?” Alfie’s having a bit of a hard time keeping his tone conversational, and he’s impressed that he can. Especially when he spreads Tommy’s pretty cheeks, sees where his hole is stretched pink around it. He taps the vibrating base with a fingertip, letting Tommy think for a minute he’s about to turn it off, just because he’s mean that way. “Remember when I brought it for you, treacle? We was walking along, you on the phone with some stuck-up politician, being all rude, and I spotted the cutest little sex shop. And I nudged you, and said, ‘darling, you know what we really ought to do this afternoon?’ And you looked annoyed, and said ‘hold on a minute.’ And then, covering up the phone, ‘What is it, Alfie?’ All annoyed and pissy. And I said –” 

“Alfie. I was there.”

“Were you?” 

“Yes. Just –” He inhales sharply. “Just, take it out. Please.” There are tears in his voice now, and all Alfie wants is to lap them like a cat. 

Alfie kneads the punished flesh, thoughtfully. “Mmm, I don’t know, sweety. You were awful naughty this evening, weren’t you?”

Tommy’s bound hands flex, the back of his neck red. He knows Alfie wants him to say it. “Yes,” he whispers.

Alfie slaps the already punished arse, delighted as it bounces faintly. But he makes his voice gruff when he scolds him. “Couldn’t hear you, darling. Would you care to repeat that?”

“Yes, I was very naughty.” Indignation and embarrassment are beautifully audible in his voice, and fucking hell, if Alfie doesn’t live for getting him like this. 

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Alfie’s speaking slowly, just to be a bastard, but he knows he has to expedite. His cock’s so hard it feels like it’ll burst into flame if he doesn’t stick it in that little hole. “Now, let’s try another exercise. Let’s hear you say, ‘I’m sorry, Alfie.’”

“I’m sorry, Alfie.” Tommy jackhammers the words, like he can’t get them out fast enough. 

“‘I won’t flirt my way into deals without talking to you ‘bout it first, Alfie.’” 

Tommy whimpers, rolling his hips like liquid, and fuck. Alfie wants him. Alfie wants to devour him. “I –” 

“Say it, Tom,” he growls. 

“I won’t, I won’t, I promise.” Tommy’s voice is so beautifully, unrecognizably high-pitched, wrecked and desperate. “I only want you, Alfie, you know I only want you, I –” 

“Alright, that’s enough.” No, it’s not. But Alfie is, again, only human, and he’s not sure he can control himself if Tommy keeps talking like that. Luckily, he won’t have to. “Now, I want you to say, ‘please, would you be so kind as to fuck me, Alfie.’”

Tommy actually moans at that, hips stuckering, humping the air. Alfie’s firm grip keeps him from grinding the bed, as he’d surely be doing by now. And fuck, he’d better say it soon. It’d be downright embarrassing if Alfie were to come in his pants, which is becoming a distinctly prominent possibility. 

“Please – please fuck me, Alfie,” comes a quivering voice. “Please, please fuck me.”

Alfie sees the world through a white-hot haze of lust. “Don’t mind if I do, love.” 

Miraculously, he manages to move slowly. Licks the stripes he lashed onto the quivering flesh, and teases on the plug with his teeth. When he finally eases into that tight, pink heat, he has little choice but to take it slow, ‘cause otherwise he’d blow his load within seconds.

After taking a minute to collect himself, feeling Tommy squirm around his cock, he begins a slow rut, rolling his hips and running his palms, soothing, over Tommy’s rippling back. Stoking moans as long and low as his thrusts.

He drags it out as long as he can, but the beginning of the end comes as soon as Tommy starts to babble. Nonsensical, barely strung together syllables, interspersed with, “I love you, Alfie, I love you.”

“I know you do, love.” Alfie grunts, rocking persistently against his sweet spot. “And that’s why you’re not going to be anyone else’s. You hear me, boyo?”

“Yours,” Tommy whimpers. “Only – only – ah. AH.” 

Tommy’s hole clenches and flutters, his body rippling and tensing, and Alfie realizes he’s coming for the second time this evening. He barely has time to bask in this, as the heat of his own climax overtakes him.

* * * 

Alfie is always annoyingly gentle with him afterwards. Infuriatingly, humiliatingly gentle.

He leaves him tied up as he rubs ointment into the welts. “I know you too well, love. You’d never let me do this without a fight.” And, he’s right, of course. Tommy rails against it more than the whipping itself, even with what little strength he has left. It’s more intimate, somehow. More shameful. 

Afterwards, he lets himself be untied, and forces himself to scowl as Alfie peppers his faces with kisses, uses a warm, damp cloth to blot the sweat from his face. To grumble in Romani as Alfie forces him to take sips of water. 

Only when Alfie finally shucks off his dayclothes and wriggles under the blankets next to him does Tommy’s resolve break. He melts against him, wraps his arms around Alfie’s broad chest and soaks up the warmth he radiates.

Alfie is kind enough, for once, not to make any smug remarks about how quickly Tommy’s softened.

He considers apologizing again for his earlier indiscretion. He should have talked to Alfie about it before flirting with Tatiana, and he supposes now that that should have been obvious. But the beautiful thing is, he doesn’t have to: they’ve already gotten everything out. Now, there’s nothing left to be said. 

“You know, love, there’s one last thing you can do.” Alfie’s chest vibrates against him as he speaks. “Y’know. To make it up to me.”

Tommy is tired – not exhausted in the way he used to be, not even sleepy. But he’s in that warm, sated place that only Alfie has ever been able to bring him. But still, he manages a glare up at him.

“You mean to tell me, you don’t think I’ve done enough?” 

His menacing tone seemingly isn’t as menacing as he’d hoped, judging by the infuriatingly fond smile that remains on Alfie’s face. “Nope.” He holds up a remote control, waggling it like a finger. “Not enough to get you out of this, at any rate.”

Tommy musters a groan. “Not another of your fucking romantic comedies, Alfie.”

“Sorry, Tom. Not even your sweet little arse could make me forget.” Alfie looks thoughtful. “You wanna know what I think?”

“No.”

“I think, that maybe, just maybe, your little stint of bad behavior was just a ploy to make me forget. Yeah?” He tuts, shaking his head. “Naughty boy. I really ought to spank you again, right now, just for being so duplicitous.”

“Shut up, Alfie,” Tommy snaps, even as he hides his flushing face against Alfie’s shoulder. There’s something so shameful about talking about after the fact.

Alfie chuckles warmly, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Tom.” He presses a kiss to his temple, beard tickling. “And you’re lucky I want to watch this with you so badly.”

Tommy sighs, pretending to sulk, pretending he’s enduring this softness and this warmth and this love for Alfie’s sake. Pretending like he doesn’t need it like the air he breathes and the water he drinks. 

He has a suspicion Alfie knows. He has a way of knowing things. But he’s kind enough not to say anything about it.

So Tommy doesn’t say anything, either. He just presses himself against his husband, and puts his head right over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur voice: LIKE AND COMMENT, by order of the Peaky FOCKIN' Blinders. 
> 
> Also, stay tuned for more grotesque amounts of fluff, smut, and happily-married gangster idiots in love.


End file.
